


conscious breathing is my anchor

by nantes (titians)



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titians/pseuds/nantes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamlet would watch Horatio do terrible, desperate things and clean up the blood -- Horatio's own and his victim's -- afterwards, as long as Horatio promised him that they never had to go home to the terrible, desperate things they left behind there. (All Hamlet wants to do is breathe; Horatio lets him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	conscious breathing is my anchor

On the outskirts of Hurricane, Utah, Hamlet tastes the metal tang of someone else's blood at the corner of his lover's mouth as he pulls him in, one arm thrown around his shoulders while his other hand reaches down and helps Horatio slide his trousers down.

He pants up at the ceiling as they fuck, meeting every one of Horatio's thrusts with his hips and digging his fingers into the hollow between the other man's shoulder blades. Horatio whispers and groans into the younger man's throat, words caught between "I love you"s and every variation of fuck he can think of. Hamlet replies as best he can, but when he comes, he forgets to breathe, just for a moment but the way Horatio chuckles into his throat, fingers wet with semen against Hamlet's belly, he remembers and cards his fingers through the sweaty curls on the back of Horatio's neck.

There's blood on the sheets but it doesn't belong to either of them. Hamlet's shirt is ruined but he doesn't care. And Horatio lies on top of him; despite the slight pain in his hips, Hamlet makes no effort to move.

They lie there and breathe.

 

*

 

It all began with the murder of Hamlet's father.

The one death Horatio didn't have a hand in. That, and Ophelia's, which some say was suicide and others, who Hamlet would be inclined to believe, claim that Gertrude, Hamlet's own mother, had something to do with.

She definitely didn't try and save the girl, anyway. Which counts for something in Hamlet's head.

Mostly, he tries not to think about everyone else. Something he is finding easier and easier to do with his head pillowed on Horatio's chest and his steady heartbeat underneath his ear.

Hamlet has lost count of how many times he has fallen asleep this way.

 

*

 

In Summerlin, they settle in a house. It's only rented, but Horatio seems to relax, some of the tension draining from his shoulders and he smiles more, not just at Hamlet and not just because he thinks he should.

It's Tuesday and in the kitchen Hamlet leans his chin against the curve of the other man's neck and says, "Good morning."

Sadly, they don't stay for too long.

 

*

 

The first time Hamlet watches Horatio punch someone, he hides half his face with his fingers and stops watching completely at the first crack of bone. It's Horatio's nose -- when Hamlet looks over, he's got blood all the way down to the collar of his shirt. His teeth and gums are red with it when he speaks, but he reassures the other man, "The molar on the floor isn't mine."

They go home, or what classifies as home, which in this town -- Hamlet doesn't even know the name of this one -- is a motel room with an en suite bathroom and flakes of paint from the ceiling on the bed covers. Horatio heads into the bathroom and Hamlet begins to pack.

He's almost finished when he hears a hiss of pain from the other side of the door. Sighing to himself, he runs a hand through the back of his hair before going to investigate.

Horatio's shirt is in a ball on the floor -- the blood will probably leave a mark on the floor but Hamlet doesn't move it. With the service they've been getting in this place and the couple upstairs fighting or fucking all the time, he counts it as a tip and steps over it. The porcelain of the sink, stained brown with age and bad cleaning, has bloody fingerprints all along the edge of it and in the mirror, Hamlet notes the way Horatio's bottom lip is swollen. He is going to be bruised up pretty badly in the morning.

"You ok?" he asks, because what else is there to say.

Horatio nods.

Three days later, they leave. They burn the body this time; Hamlet strikes the first match.

 

*

 

He both understands and doesn't understand why Horatio does it. He's good with cars and better with people than Hamlet -- although the younger man has one of those faces that seems to make him that person others ask for directions -- but still, there's always someone else's blood under his fingernails or the pale memory of a bruise on his chest or neck or cheek.

But he doesn't ask.

 

*

 

All Hamlet wants from life is to breathe. That's all. It's not much to ask. And it's exactly what Horatio lets him do.

 

*

 

The bonnet of the car is thick with dust but if Horatio's ok with lying on it than Hamlet is ok climbing onto it next to him and lying back. His hair gets caught in the wipers, but it's nothing too serious. Horatio even laughs when the other man grimaces at the dirt now darkening the palm of his hand.

He wipes it off on Horatio's shirt as punishment but he takes it good naturedly.

"Most of my shirts are ruined with oil," he replies, "so what's a little dust gonna do?"

They're parked somewhere a few miles out from Vegas. There's barely any wind and only the cicadas sing back and forth around them. It's stupidly peaceful and Hamlet can't help the way his hand finds his lover's, tangling their fingers together. Horatio hums thoughtfully, squeezing the younger man's hand but remains quiet after that.

For a minute, maybe ninety seconds, Hamlet attempts to count the stars, but he loses count, distracted by the moon. He smiles up at it, large and white and bright in the sky.

Next to him, Horatio closes his eyes and breathes.

 

*

 

They leave town in the morning but there's no corpse to dispose of this time.

Hamlet thinks he left a pair of boxers behind. The brunette beside him changes gear, laughs and promises to buy him another pair. Hamlet grins at the side of his face -- since Horatio is concentrating on the road -- before leaning into the backseat and pulling out the map.

"How about we take a look what's for offer in California?" he asks. "Santa Rosa sounds nice."

Horatio nods. "How far is it?"

"I don't know. I'm sure there's a sign."

And with that, Hamlet reaches over and places his hand over the brunette's on top of the gear stick. The map crinkles with his movement.


End file.
